familypediawikiaorg-20200214-history
Lynn Eleanor Kohlman (1946-2008)/Bibliography
All woman. As a model and photographer, Lynn Kohlman has always had a special relationship with the camera. But her new book – a startling visual chronicle of her career and her struggle with cancer – presents us with a woman who looks life boldly in the face. Tina Gaudoin meets her. The cliché “a force of nature” was invented for Lynn Kohlman. How else do you explain the bravery and resilience of a woman who cancels her double mastectomy in order to be at the bedside of her dying mother, then after that mastectomy goes on to suffer not one but two bouts of advanced stage-four brain cancer. Once cleared, she comes out the other side to publish a book encompassing the glamour of her modelling career, the gory visual details of her breast and brain surgery and the uplifting beauty of both her family and the ...Source: The London Times; February 4, 2006 * People magazine; September 19, 2005. I Have Been Transformed. By Liza Hamm. Lynn Kohlman, Survivor of Breast and Brain Cancer. "Lynn Kohlman, 59, was a model in the 1970s, then went on to two more successful careers, first as a fashion executive for Perry Ellis and Donna Karan and then as a photographer. In September 2002 she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Then she received another shock in April 2003: Unrelated to the breast cancer, she was told she had glioblastoma multiforme, an aggressive type of brain cancer. Her new book Lynn: Front to Back features her own portraits and nature photography, as well as pictures of herself after surgery. Here is her story. After the best year of my life, I got bashed to the ground. It was the fall of 2002, and I had just taken a year off to contemplate my navel. I was an adult but as free as can be. Then, after the summer, it was like, "Okay Lynn, you've had too good a time." I was concerned about my son Sam, now 19, who was having knee pain. He turned out to be fine. Then, one day, I felt my right breast and discovered a lump. I didn't panic. A decade before I had a lump removed from my left breast and it wasn't cancer. Also, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in her 50s, and she had survived it. I went to New York's Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, and doctors removed the lump in my right breast: It was cancer. They also found three suspicious spots in my left breast: also cancer. My head was spinning because in addition to this news my mother, 82, was on her last legs, and I had to fly to Atlanta to see her. A few days after, she died of Alzheimer's, and a week after that trip, I had a double mastectomy. Everybody had always said my breasts were beautiful. Now all I could think about was my mother: After her single mastectomy, she looked like she had been butchered. I met with a plastic surgeon about breast implants. I thought, "It'll be like Tinkerbell with her magic wand—you wake up after surgery with these wonderful, perky, new breasts." But the plastic surgeon said I didn't have enough fat for natural breast implants. It's the first time anyone ever told me I was too fit to fight illness. "Can't you get it off my thighs?" I asked. "I've always wanted to have better legs." He said he didn't do lipo. I asked the doctor what other options I had, and he said if I wanted artificial implants, I needed to get "expanders" — contraptions placed in your chest and then pumped up with saline solution until they stretch the muscles enough to make room for artificial implants. I got the expanders — and they were excruciatingly uncomfortable. Every week they inserted a huge needle and pumped in more saline, and every week the pain got worse. The expanders also impaired my ability to breathe. At one point, I was so expanded, I felt like Dolly Parton. Then it turned out I developed an infection and the expanders had to be removed. One day while I was going through all this, two friends stopped by my New York apartment. I told them, "This wouldn't be so bad, but my breasts were the best part of my body." And one of them said: "Pick something else." So I decided to love my legs, which had always been the least favorite part of my body. Today I feel more beautiful than I ever did, which is one of the main reasons the book is called Front to Back. One thing that carried me through was my family. My son Sam and husband, Mark, and I would eat together every night. We'd sit down and talk about the day. They both have an extraordinary amount of creativity and sensitivity. I don't know how I would have made it otherwise. And soon I'd need their support even more. A few months after my mastectomy, I went to Parrot Cay island with Donna Karan to recover at a yoga retreat. Trying to nap one morning, I started sweating profusely. I felt a surge of fire from my feet to my arms. I had a horrible metallic taste in my mouth. I had no idea, but I was having a seizure. Later I tried to do yoga again and had another seizure. I remember the instructor saying, "She's in Kundalini!" state of spiritual and physical awakening. But this was no Kundalini. I immediately flew back to New York for an MRI. With Mark and Donna at my side, the doctor told me I had a tumor, the size of a walnut, in my brain. Within days I was waiting to be taken into surgery. I remember Sam holding my hand and stroking my hair. During the 41/2-hour operation, I had only local anesthesia: I was kept awake so the surgeon could be sure he wasn't affecting my ability to speak or move as he cut out the tumor, which was above my left ear. I'll never forget the sounds of the doctor sawing into my head. It was like a horror movie. I came out with 39 equally spaced titanium staples on my head. The findings were grim: glioblastoma, stage four. I'm going, "four out of ten is not so bad, right?" The doctor looked up and said, "This is four out of four." patients do not live more than a year after this type of diagnosis. We all sat there and cried. Worse yet, just weeks after surgery, I had another seizure. The tumor had grown back. For weeks on end I got radiation treatment in the morning and chemo at night—apocalypse now. Gradually I started getting a grip on the whole thing. It began slowly. There were things in my life I wanted to hold on to, things I really loved. When I saw my oncologist in the spring of 2003, he said, "Pick out the five most important things in your life and do them." Photography is one of those things. Yoga is too. And my family. And doing this book has been so therapeutic for me. Slowly these things came together. They get me focused. They keep me healthy. I know they have kept me alive. When people ask me how long I have, I say nobody can really proclaim how long you have to live. I don't have a tumor today. All I know is I feel great today. Every moment of my life is the best part now. I wake up every morning and say, "Oh, it's so beautiful." It's not that I didn't appreciate things before, but now I know that life is really moment by moment. I have been transformed as a human being." *Women's Wear Daily; September 14, 2008; Model Lynn Kohlman Dies at 62. New York — Lynn Kohlman, a model and photographer who also served as Perry Ellis' muse and in creative roles for Donna Karan and Tommy Hilfiger, died Sunday morning at Memorial ... *Front To Back blurb "Lynn Kohlman began as a fashion model in the late sixties, appearing on the covers of all the major fashion bibles, as well as in advertising campaigns for such designers as Yves Saint Laurent and Missoni. In the seventies, her own photographs of male models attracted the attention of Andy Warhol, leading to successful stints at Interview, Vogue, GQ and Glamour. In 1989 Kohlman was appointed fashion director of the Donna Karan Company and later helped Tommy Hilfiger launch his women s wear line. Throughout all these transformations, Kohlman s signature style and humor prevailed. But, it was in 2002, when she was diagnosed with breast and then brain cancer, that one could really begin to see the depths of her dignity - and her beauty. This powerful visual chronicle, featuring memorable photographs by Stephen Sebring, Gusta Peterson, and Mark Obenhaus, is a unique record of one woman s glamorous triumphs and agonizing struggles. Lynn: Front to Back gives new meaning to the notion that beauty is more than skin deep." *LiveStrong. Lynn Kohlman. Lynn Kohlman is a two-time cancer survivor. My mother had breast cancer and a single mastectomy in the early 1970s. So it came as no surprise to me that I was, a decade ago, diagnosed with cancer in my left breast and had a lumpectomy. It seemed to me no big deal. In a way, I was expecting it. And I have been rigorous about seeing my breast surgeon every year since then, having a mammogram. I survived for ten years without being challenged again. After a decade, it leaves the forefront of your mind, and of course, your life goes on. I'm not sure I had expectations of it occurring again. It did. I felt a lump on my right breast at that point. It was definitely cancer. So that was another lumpectomy on my right breast. At that point, I also discovered a few little possible cancers in my left breast. So doing the lumpectomy on the right, they also did needle biopsies on my left. When the tests came back, I would say approximately ten days after surgery, it was discovered that on my left breast as well, those were cancerous. In September of 2002, I had to make the decision of where I went from there. It really wasn't a decision to have a double mastectomy. They told me, if I chose this, what would happen; if I chose that, what would happen. They were very clear. It seemed that there could be only one response to what they presented me, and that would be to have a double mastectomy. I wasn't very informed. So it's important to be very, very well informed before you go into a panic mode, which in a way, you do. Your mind turns off, and you see the Big C in your face, and you're now having a double mastectomy. And I realized that the Big C wasn't my cup size anymore. It was cancer, and it echoes and clouds your ability to be rational and think. When I had the surgery, I had this image of waking up and having beautiful new breasts. I thought the technology had come along that far and the next morning, you have these perfect breasts. You name it, and you get it. The breast surgeon checked me, and looked at my butt, upper back, and stomach and said, "Well, you don't have enough fat on your body to create two breasts, nevertheless one, so you can't have that new revolutionary method. You have to have expanders." I didn't know anything about expanders, which was very remiss on my part not to have researched what the expanders were. I actually did think that they had gone past implants. I never thought that I was so fit or that I couldn't have this process. I was very baffled that I could be too fit or too thin. I remember what my mother looked like after a mastectomy without replacement implants, and how terrible the scars looked. She looked like she had a terrible chop job; not any sensitivity to the scars or how she looked. I didn't recognize that breast plastic surgery had come forward enough from the early 70s for your scars on your chest to look much, much better and much easier to deal with personally. When you wake up every morning and brush your teeth in front of the mirror, it wasn't going to be this scary monster. But I wasn't thinking clearly to even ask. So whatever it was, I wanted it. I said, "Let's put the expanders in." However, I've since discovered by asking my husband, who was even in the room, that it was never mentioned that once you decide to have expanders put in, that if you're on chemo, you cannot have the implants until three months after the end of chemo. However, not even knowing at that point that I would be on chemo for eighteen months, that meant virtually twenty-one months from that day, the implant of the expanders, that I would even get an implant and surgery to take them out. I think that's a very important fact to have known. I don't know if in my irrational mode, I would have thought of that as terrible or not. It was pretty tortuous to have expanders. It was every week or every two weeks that I had to expand the tissue and the muscles in the cavity area. So that eventually, I could accept the implant. When I had expanders, I always wanted to know whether it was normal to feel like I'm in this cage. It was so tight that I felt like I could hardly take a deep breath in. It was so restricting and uncomfortable. I could hardly sleep at night; it was so painful. It just became more and more excruciating to the point where I asked the doctor, "What are you doing? I only want to be an A or a B cup now, and I'm looking like Dolly Parton. This is crazy." And he said, "We have to really expand your tissue, so it's comfortable for you when you get your insert." I said, "Can I see this insert again?" He took up this thing and it was so big I said, "That's huge! I want to be between an A or B." And he said, "This is all we have. We don't have anything smaller." So if you want small boobs, forget the implants. I realized, of course, I probably did have enough fat in my body if he had truly imagined that I really did want small boobs. I ended up having my expanders removed because of infection. I am proud of my scars. I'm proud to be walking around at all. So these things mean nothing really to me. What am I hiding from? And if I hide, I can't present myself as who I found I am. I am not only proud to be a survivor and meet this challenge, but I am proud to be here. Every day, I'm proud to be here and happy. Happier every day. Within five or six months of having the double mastectomy, I started having these seizures. I was told I had brain cancer. When the neurologist looks at you in the eye and says, "You have brain cancer," a whole other world opens up, and it's much more fearful to me than breast cancer, because my mother had it and she survived and life went on. But brain cancer was like, "Whoa." She said, "You have the most aggressive brain cancer there is, and it's a glioblastoma." So the cure, really, is what I call East meets West. First of all, the doctors at my treatment center entering from the West are the most amazing doctors to have in my opinion. I think every woman or man who confronts cancer has to have tremendous belief in the doctors that are there to help them. I feel it's extremely important to put that faith and hope in your doctors who are there to save your life. You must make sure that you have that feeling about them. The West side was covered, so I needed men in from the East because I have a bent for Eastern philosophy. It was very important for me to go back to that. I approached from the East with yoga. I knew that yoga was going to be an extraordinary way for me to really empower myself, and find my strength and core. And to connect my mind, body and soul. I also practice meditation daily, because yoga and meditation go hand in hand. So those two things immediately were within the aspect of coming in from the East. In this awareness, came acupuncture, which I had practiced regularly from the 70s when I was so strongly into the Eastern philosophies. I had somehow let this slip. I went back to acupuncture in a very regular way. A new thing for me was cranial-sacral work, which I'm not sure I ever really trusted, but I did discover that it does a movement of energy through my body that I recognized and utilized. I would say those were primary in my health and ability to live a longer and happier life. The other component was really believing in myself, and my personal contribution to meeting these challenges. That's where Lance has come in so strongly, as someone who has created challenges. For now, being here, I've met a new challenge for me and enjoyed every moment. I do feel transformed and awakened by cancer. I have never truly felt so wonderful. I feel that I needed to be bopped over the head and breast cancer didn't really do it for me, so I needed to have brain cancer. I feel like I chose it, and I needed it. I've certainly chosen a different journey than I would have if cancer hadn't come to meet me. Now I have cancer by my side, and it's made me aware of my mortality and not afraid of it. I breathe every day in with a different, totally transformed and different level of appreciation of life. It is wildly great. My name is Lynn Kohlman, and I am a breast and brain cancer survivor. *Urban Zen; It saddens us to inform you that Lynn Kohlman passed away on Sunday, September 14th at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. At 62 years old, Lynn battled breast and brain cancer until the very end. Lynn is the inspiration for the creation of the Urban Zen Foundation and her light and energy will continue be part of everything we do. When Lynn was first diagnosed with breast cancer, doctors told her that she only had four months to live. Those four months passed and later Lynn was told she had brain cancer as well. So much devastating news would bring most of us to our knees, but Lynn handled her diagnosis with the same strength and elegance that is evident in her work as a model and photographer. Lynn underwent several operations for both cancers and survived for another four years She spent this time with her family and friends, continuing her life as a photographer creating images of people she loved and the life she lived, including yoga and her cancer recovery. Lynn spoke out on behalf of cancer survivors everywhere. Her portrait by photographer Robin Saidman shows Lynn in all her natural beauty, proudly sharing the scars of her mastectomy. Her inner strength is never more evident and her outer beauty, although changed, is still intact. We at Urban Zen have been touched by Lynn. Her journey with cancer is a source of our inspiration to change the medical paradigm to include integrated therapies such as yoga, massage, aromatherapy and nutrition. We all learned first-hand through Lynn’s experience, that there are incredibly talented doctors and nurses, and science allowed Lynn to survive for many years. But we also learned that Western medicine treats the disease and not the patient. Urban Zen Foundation will continue to pursue this initiative in the hope that future patients will be treated mind, body and spirit. We will carry Lynn’s memory and spirit with us always. Category: Lynn Eleanor Kohlman (1946-2008)